


Between the lines

by bluebells



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - All Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Amnesia, Domesticity, Five Acts, Letters, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-23
Updated: 2012-04-23
Packaged: 2017-11-04 04:33:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/389788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluebells/pseuds/bluebells
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After an accident leaves Adam with retrograde amnesia, he learns about the life he's lived and the one he's loved through a series of letters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Between the lines

**Author's Note:**

  * For [safeandwarm](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=safeandwarm).



> Written for safeandwarm as part of the Five Acts exchange (writing, high school, domesticity, amnesia).

_I know your mom loves me, but I don't know what'd happen if she found out about us._

Adam pours over the rest of the letter, heart sinking with every word. The perfect loops of Michael's cursive handwriting falters the further Adam reads on. 

_I'm sort of crazy about you._

Adam pushes the letter back in its envelope and drops it in its shoe box on a small stack of similar envelopes, yellowing paper, worn at the corners. Michael composed almost thirty letters to Adam through high school telling him everything he couldn't or wouldn't say, until Adam confiscated his writing pen at graduation and said that the only gift he wanted for leaving high school was to have Michael repeat all those things he'd written about.

At least, that's what Michael told him. 

Adam found that Michael since wrote him another letter every year on their anniversary. 

He wishes he could remember it. He wishes he felt more than wracking guilt with every penned admission, every time Michael's gaze lingers, wondering if maybe today Adam will remember something of the life they used to share together. Since Adam came home from the hospital, he knows Michael has been hovering and hoping desperately (quietly) for that flicker of recognition.

Michael is an impeccable host. He never shows exasperation at Adam's questions, and he doesn't second-guess Adam's assertion that, no, he hates cabbage, no matter what old-Adam used to say. Michael nods quietly and stows the plates away, speaks softly about football games they used to go to, how Adam worked at the clinic before he went on sabbatical, how they still take turns visiting between their families on the major holidays, and how they were going to get a dog before Adam's accident. 

Michael speaks at length by Adam's request, and he doesn't stop even when his throat sounds tight, dry and laboured.

Adam becomes enthralled with Michael's warm, smooth voice that feels like a blanket draping around his shoulders.

Adam listens, he learns. He understands. But it isn't him in those stories.

The bedroom door opens with a soft click, and Michael enters quietly. His gaze drops from Adam's eyes to a fresh envelope in his hands.

Adam holds his breath. He accepts the envelope wordlessly, warring against the knots of tension in his stomach. Michael's expression is closed, but that's the most revealing thing of all: Michael has never hidden anything from him until now.

"Wait." Adam catches Michael's hand when he starts turning away. "Can you read it to me?"

Michael's shoulders rise and fall with a slow sigh. He eventually faces Adam again, expression pale and exhausted. "I wrote it to avoid this."

"Please?" Adam watches Michael take the letter back. His heart beats faster; a painful hammer ricocheting in his chest. He's afraid of what he's about to hear.

"Adam." Michael clears his throat, eyes fixed on the page. "By now, I think you have all the answers - at least for the questions you asked. A new question lies ahead of you. You know who you were. You know how I -" Michael sighs and shakes his head. 

Adam has a feeling he takes license to censor before he continues. 

Adam regrets it.

"Whatever decision you make, I'll support you, even if that choice doesn't include me. Spending time with you these last two weeks made it clear that who you were doesn't define who you are or will be." Michael shrugs and drops the letter on the desk. He pushes his hands deep in his pockets, and gazes out the window to the late afternoon. "I respect that. I'll honour your choices... but if you ever need me for anything...."

Michael gestures in a vague, all-encompassing arc; anything, everything, and nothing is left to bare. He shrugs. He's said his piece.

Adam believes him, heart leaping to his throat. He reaches for Michael's wrist and rises to his feet, trembling and light-headed from the sudden effort of scraping for courage. He hopes he's doing the right thing, has to trust the plea in his gut.

He swallows thickly before he can find his voice. "Kiss me?"

Michael stares, then frowns. "What?"

Adam's face burns with the embarrassment of having to ask again. "Would you kiss me? I'd _like_ to remember."

"... There's no guarantee that if I do-"

"Okay. So, just kiss me."

And Michael does.


End file.
